


First Impressions

by Elvendork



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, daemon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: In which the Fellowship study each other's daemons, and make some surprising discoveries in the process.Character tags to be updated as each chapter is added.





	1. Strider

**Author's Note:**

> Born out of an inexplicable need for LOTR daemon AUs and the [ensuing discussion](http://prettybirdy979.tumblr.com/post/161544319638/elvendorkinfinity-prettybirdy979) with prettybirdy979.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place as the hobbits first meet Aragorn in The Prancing Pony, book-verse. Some lines, particularly dialogue, are lifted straight from the book.

_ Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said…  _

_ Presently, with a wave of his hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by him. _

 

Camellia tightened her grip on Frodo’s shoulder, long fingers digging in painfully.

 

‘Don’t,’ she whispered; but Frodo was already moving. Camellia trembled, her entire little body tense with the urge to flee. The man’s own daemon watched them approach coolly, her proud yellow eyes riveted to Frodo’s face for several long seconds before casting a swift, searching look around the rest of the room. She seemed to find most of the other occupants wanting in something. She glanced at her human; there was an entire conversation in that glance. Frodo put up a hand automatically to steady Camellia in her perch.

 

‘I am called Strider,’ the stranger introduced himself quietly. He laid a hand on the thick grey fur at his wolf-daemon’s neck, but did not share her name. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Master - Underhill, if old Butterbur got your name right.’

 

‘He did,’ Frodo replied, while Camellia growled a low warning in his ear. They listened somewhat uncomfortably as Strider warned them of their over-talkative friends, of the dangers of drink-loosened tongues, of travellers and spies. Then the Ranger broke off; his daemon was suddenly alert, her attention fixed on Pippin. Dread pooled in Frodo’s gut and Camellia hissed in annoyance; they barely heard Strider’s whispered directive to  _ do something, quick _ ! and were hardly aware of leaping onto a nearby table, nor of the commotion that followed. 

 

The next time they were able to think clearly was when they heard the rumbling growl of Strider’s daemon beside them. Frodo jumped, startled; Camellia leapt across to his opposite shoulder, moving herself away from the wolf, whose lips were curled in disdain, showing wickedly pointed teeth. Camellia hissed in defiance and fear.

 

000

 

Frodo watched Strider’s daemon almost unceasingly from that point on. Whenever he was required to move his gaze away, he still kept half his attention on her; and whenever even that was commanded by some other matter, Camellia’s large bright eyes would fix upon the wolf in wary calculation and warning. The wolf, for her part, did not seem either surprised or perturbed by this development. Occasionally she would meet their look with her own, some unreadable expression on her fierce predator’s face, but neither she nor Strider ever challenged them over it. This, as much as anything else, put Frodo on his guard.

 

So it was that later, as Strider spoke in an urgent half-whisper of their pursuers, that it was Frodo who noticed the change in his daemon. For a moment - and a moment only, gone as quickly as it came - Frodo and Camellia glimpsed something through the worn and dirty exterior. 

 

‘Do you wish them to find you?’ Strider demanded, his hands clenching the arms of his chair tightly and his face a mask of pain. ‘They are terrible!’

 

It was then, in the time when the other hobbits were fearfully studying Strider’s own face, that Frodo saw. It was not as though a light was shone upon them, not as though the depth of shadow changed, but only their angle. It was a thing revealed, un-looked for, then cast again under a weather-beaten shroud.

 

For the space of a heartbeat the wolf had ceased to appear as the fierce, suspicious soul of a man with a fierce, suspicious heart; she was not tired or ragged, not wild or frightening - or if she was frightening, it was fear of a different sort. 

 

She was, for a breath,  _ proud _ . She sat tall beside her human, strong and noble. There was something ancient in her bearing, and wise. Something  _ good _ . Something which, had Frodo been given the time or wit to realise it, reminded him strongly of Gandalf and his Minerva. And when the moment passed, and she seemed again ragged and travel-worn, she was also somehow…  _ other _ than before. Not less, but - softer, calmer - more knowable.

 

This was the reason, though he could not properly articulate it, that in the end Frodo disagreed with Sam. 

 

‘He knows something, that’s plain, and more than I like; but it’s no reason why we should let him go leading us out into some dark place far from help, as he puts it,’ Sam insisted. Violet, her tail tucked firmly between her legs, growled her agreement with him. She was smaller by far than Strider’s wolf; tan coloured where the wolf was grey, wiry where the wolf was soft, but at least as fierce as her much larger cousin. In appearance there was little to suggest the kinship between dog and wolf, but Frodo saw it if Sam did not, and it was almost enough to make him smile. Camellia leapt smoothly from her accustomed place on Frodo’s shoulder and scampered across the floor to touch her small primate hand to Violet’s bristling back. The touch seemed to calm the little canine, but not by much.

 

‘No,’ Frodo said slowly, looking at Strider. ‘I don’t agree. I think, I think you are not really as you choose to look.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, if you're interested...
> 
> Aragorn's daemon is a grey wolf. Her name has not been mentioned yet, but I know what it will be.
> 
> For hobbit-daemon names I have followed the hobbit tradition of using plants or flowers as female names. Various sources give slightly different 'meanings' for different flowers/plants, but I have picked those I think fitted best.
> 
> Frodo's daemon is a slow loris - an adorable primate with a wicked bite. Her name, Camellia, means 'greatness of spirit'.  
> Sam's daemon is a small dog, of non-specific breed. Her name, Violet, means 'modesty' and 'faithfulness'.
> 
> The form of Gandalf's daemon is not mentioned, although I have an idea as to what she might be. The name given here, Minerva, is only one of several she is known by. It means 'wisdom'.
> 
> Stay tuned for the rest, and feel free to chat about ideas, here or on my [tumblr](elvendorkinfinity.tumblr.com).


	2. Pippin: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some insight into the daemon form decision process, see [this](http://prettybirdy979.tumblr.com/post/161682500333/elvendorkinfinity-prettybirdy979) tumblr discussion between me and prettybirdy979 - I wouldn't be writing this without you!

By the time they were two day's journey from Rivendell, the effort of not changing was beginning to tell. 

 

Della trotted dutifully at Pippin’s side, meerkat tail held high, and tried to look comfortable in her own skin. It was not an easy task. The sun was slowly rising over the misty heather; they had walked all night with little rest and in this cold darkness her meerkat form was inconvenient; she longed to give herself thick fur and large, nocturnal eyes. 

 

For curiosity also she wished she could become a bird and fly up with Lerandir, to ask if she ever got bored holding the same form for thousands of years. She watched Cahira padding quietly ahead and envied her size and fierce, proud grace. She even itched to try out Erôthknil’s wombat shape, simply for the joy of discovering how it felt. How could anyone stand to hold one shape for so long? She was desperate to settle, and afraid of it, and that made her irritable. Her skin felt tight and wrong.

 

They had been walking in file for many hours now, though their original order had changed somewhat; Aragorn was still in the lead, with Araltha at his side as always, but Gandalf had fallen back to discuss some matter with Legolas, walking at the rear as a guard against unexpected foes. Both elf and wizard were far from their daemons, who were flying high and distant, great wide eyes searching all the land below for danger; the thought made Pippin even more uncomfortable, though he could not think how to express it.

 

They - Pippin and Della both - were so tired now, and so focused on their own discomfort, that neither of them noticed the loping approach of Merry’s daemon until the otter was hardly a whisker’s length away. Pippin held up a hand to shade his eyes against the dawn which was creeping across the land, and flashed a thin smile at Merry. There was no real joy in the expression.

 

‘Even you can't make yourselves to settle through sheer force of will,’ Elphi, Merry’s daemon, commented in a doubtful undertone. 

 

‘Why not?’ Pippin groused, as Merry fell into step beside him. He could feel Della resisting her contradictory desire to change into a wild boar, stubborn and solid; bristly and immovable. Instead she satisfied herself with using her foot to flick dirt into Elphi’s face and then scurrying ahead before vengeance could be sought.

 

‘They will find out,’ Merry coaxed gently. ‘Most of them know already.’

 

‘No they don't,’ Pippin argued. He was looking at Cahira when he said it, and there was such open admiration on his face that Merry was almost jealous. Then it occurred to him, probably far too late, that Pippin was not just being stubborn: he was  _ embarrassed.  _ It was one thing to feel small surrounded by so many tall Men and Elves, but at least the hobbits had this in common with each other, and even with Gimli. What must it be like, Merry wondered, to be alone unsettled beside these mighty warriors, unable to commiserate even amongst their kin? At this Merry felt a great rush of warmth and sympathy towards his cousin. Elphi nudged Della affectionately as the two little daemons came side by side once more. 

 

For some time the two hobbits walked in companionable silence. Pippin was still uncomfortable and uncharacteristically tense; Merry was still searching for something suitably encouraging to say, but they had known each other so long that there was no awkwardness in the quiet. Eventually it was Pippin who spoke, and it was clear that the thought he voiced had been worrying him since they had set out.

 

‘Do you think they're going to send us home after all, Merry? If they… if they find out?’ he asked, hesitant and avoiding his cousin’s eyes.

 

‘Of course not!’ Merry exclaimed immediately, having not even considered the notion before now. Pippin looked unconvinced, so Merry tried a different - though still entirely honest - approach. ‘I should like to see them try at any rate. You said it yourself, Pip: we hobbits must stick together, and I doubt even a lioness is a match for Camellia in a pinch.’ 

 

Pippin smiled, mischievous and uncertain all at once. Merry couldn’t have said why it struck him so powerfully at that moment, but in a sudden rush of understanding he realised that while he was remembering incidents of Camellia both settled  _ and _ unsettled, Pippin was barely old enough to remember a time before Frodo’s daemon had taken her fixed primate form. He tried in vain to squash the protective urge rushing over him, knowing it was the last thing Pippin needed right now. 

 

‘Besides,’ he continued, determined and matter-of-fact, ‘Gandalf is the one who convinced them to let us both come in the first place. Who's going to argue with  _ Gandalf _ ?’

 

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ a deep voice rumbled from behind them, and the two hobbits jumped and looked around, startled, to see Gandalf himself peering down at them beneath his bushy raised eyebrows. He had concluded his discussion with Legolas and moved forward in the line again to draw level with them. ‘I could certainly suggest one or two names, young Master Meriadoc, who have spent a great deal of time arguing with me over their short years.’

 

Merry flushed to the tips of his ears while Pippin stifled a reluctant chuckle. Gandalf’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and no small degree of fondness.

 

‘In any case you needn’t worry yourself about being sent away, Peregrin Took. We are mighty short of sacks and prisons, unless your pack contains far more than meets the eye, and I would rather have you with us - for good or ill - than trailing behind with no one to keep an eye on you.’ Gandalf paused then, and turned his attention sharply to the grey speck some way ahead which was his own daemon, flying alongside Lerandir as scouts. ‘We will stop soon,’ he said, still watching the two owls with a thoughtful expression on his lined face. Merry and Pippin squinted in the same direction, but were unable to make out very much detail.

 

Pippin looked, for a moment, as if he were fighting some fierce internal battle. He frowned and leant down momentarily, scooping his daemon smoothly into his arms and holding her close.

 

‘You have a question,’ said Gandalf, laying a hand briefly on Pippin’s shoulder. He removed it just as quickly, but the touch was encouraging to the curious hobbit, who spoke before he could stop himself.

 

‘Yes,’ said Pippin, then faltered, uncertain how to phrase what he wanted to ask. Gandalf waited silently, still walking steadily just behind Merry and Pippin, leaning slightly on his staff as they reach a gradual incline. His attention, seemingly, was still on his daemon, and this was what spurred Pippin onwards, perhaps recklessly. ‘Does it hurt very much?’ he asked in a rush. ‘I mean being so far from Minerva. Is it painful?’ He held his dear Edelweiss close to his breast as he spoke, clutching her sandy fur as though afraid that speaking of the wizard’s uncanny range would somehow pull his own daemon away. Delphinium, catching their discomfort, rubbed herself cat-like against Merry’s ankle.

 

‘No,’ Gandalf reassured them after a pause. ‘No, it is not painful.’

 

For a moment Pippin thought he would elaborate, but nothing was forthcoming, and just as he opened his mouth to ask another question there was a cry from up ahead - from Lerandir, or Minerva? Pippin wasn’t sure, only that it was one of the birds who had spoken, and that a message was rippling quickly down the line of companions.

 

‘There is an outcropping of rock over this next rise in the land,’ Boromir reported, having slowed his pace so that he could talk easily to them over his shoulder. ‘It should prove a suitable shelter for the daylight.’

 

‘Very well,’ Gandalf replied, drawing ahead of the hobbits. He paused as he passed them and looked down. ‘Do not waste your fear on this,’ he intoned gravely, ‘for there are worse perils yet to come, and you should not spend your energy fretting over that which cannot be helped.’ With that his long legs stretched out into strides that belied his aged appearance, and he quickly caught up with Aragorn to consult before they reached their day’s camp.

 

‘Is all quite well, my friends?’ queried Boromir, laying a hand atop Cahira’s smooth head.

 

‘Yes,’ Merry replied, when Pippin seemed unlikely to respond. ‘A private matter, which some are giving more thought that it requires.’ He looked pointedly at his cousin while he spoke.

 

‘Is there aught I may do to assist you?’ Boromir asked, still frowning with concern. Pippin’s heart clenched with equal parts guilt and fear; supposing he told the truth now, what might Boromir say?

 

‘No, thank you,’ Pippin responded as Della burrowed her head into his neck, nuzzling affectionately. Her touch calmed him somewhat, and he was able to offer a genuine smile as he glanced towards Merry. ‘My cousin can be quite melodramatic at times, it is nothing to be concerned over.’

 

Still quite bewildered, Boromir nevertheless let the matter drop for the moment, though he determined to ask the truth of Gandalf when the opportunity next arose.

 

000

 

They set up camp just over the rise of the hill, beneath the outcropping spotted by their daemon scouts. The grey stone protruded only slightly from the peak, but this was enough to offer some scant shelter at least, and this being the highest rise for some distance around it also gave them a good vantage point for spying approaching foes. The ground was soft with low-lying heather, deep purple and green in the pale dawn light; crystal droplets of water clung to the grass and to Gimli’s beard, and the company unloaded their packs gratefully when Aragorn called them to halt.

 

A carpet of mist was spread below them, thin and cold, obscuring much of the landscape’s detail but not thick enough to put visibility at too great a disadvantage. It would soon burn off during the daylight hours, Aragorn assured them, and he knew this land so well that none doubted him. 

 

They chanced a small fire - still so close to Rivendell, and sheltered as they were, Gandalf thought it not an undue risk, so long as they prevented rising smoke - and shared a simple meal. The hobbits crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, and clutched blankets around themselves. Aragorn and Gandalf stood after they had eaten and moved a few steps away, speaking in voices too low to make out. Legolas was singing softly, his back leaned against one of the smoother rocks. Pippin, nestled snugly between Frodo and Merry, was soon dozing. He could hear his fellow hobbits talking for some time, but did not, or could not, divine their meaning. He drifted in and out of dreams and let their words wash over him without attempting to catch any of them for analysis.

 

He must eventually have gone fully to sleep, for the next thing he was aware of was a hand at his shoulder; it was Merry, who had been on watch with Gimli, waking Pippin to take his place.

 

‘Come on, Pip,’ he whispered. ‘Here; I’ll take your spot where it’s warm. Take this blanket. You’re with Strider.’

 

Pippin rubbed his eyes and frowned. It was full daylight now, and the sun hurt even as he squinted to avoid the worst of the glare. It was still chilly despite the fact that it must have been nearly midday. He stood obediently enough, though, and Della touched noses briefly with Elphi before they shuffled off to take their turn on watch.

 

‘Good morning,’ Aragorn greeted him quietly, handing over a bowl of some soup or broth, which Pippin took without comment. Aragorn was by now well used to the ways of hobbits, and did not speak again until Pippin had eaten his fill; or at least had eaten what was available.

 

‘We have not spoken very much since we set out from Rivendell,’ the Ranger commented eventually, not looking at Pippin but searching all the surrounding land with his sharp eyes. Araltha paced around the camp, not restless precisely, but alert; prepared for danger if not necessarily expecting anything imminent. ‘How are you faring?’

 

Pippin looked shrewdly up at Aragorn’s face, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. ‘You have been talking to Merry.’

 

‘I do not deny it,’ Aragorn conceded with a nod and a brief glance down at the hobbit. ‘He is concerned about you.’

 

‘You needn’t worry about me, Strider,’ Pippin replied lightly. ‘I am alright.’

 

‘Edelweiss has not changed since the Council,’ Aragorn observed. ‘At least, not publically. She has not yet settled, though, has she?’

 

‘ _ Shh _ !’ Pippin hissed, casting a quick startled look at their sleeping companions. ‘I do not want - she has not needed to.’

 

‘It is not wise to force yourself into an ill-fitting role for so long.’

 

‘What are you talking about?’ Pippin demanded, somewhat rudely. Aragorn was still not looking at him, and Pippin supposed he ought to be more watchful himself, but his attention was split between his duty as look-out and his indignation at their conversation.

 

‘You need not keep yourselves so constrained,’ Aragorn explained gently. ‘There may well come a time when Della’s ability to change is useful to us. Do not limit yourselves for fear of others’ reactions; we are on this Quest together now, and together we shall remain for some time yet.’

 

Pippin did not respond. He was not sure how.

 

‘Now, for example,’ Aragorn continued eventually, ‘Araltha’s range is further than most Men, though not as far as some other races, and her sight stretches over long distances. She cannot fly as can Minerva or Lerandir, however; nor as could Edelweiss, if she wished. Such an ability could be useful to one on watch though, could it not?’

 

‘What are you suggesting?’ Della interrupted for herself. She was standing on her hind legs and had been looking out in the opposite direction to Aragorn, but now she turned to face him.

 

‘We all have our strengths. Perhaps your youth - if you will pardon my mentioning it - is yours.’

 

Della’s eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, towards the rest of the Fellowship, who are all - apparently - still sleeping.

 

‘Do you think that they would judge you?’ Aragorn asked, glancing to Pippin and then away again, to the horizon.

 

‘No,’ Pippin replied stubbornly, then: ‘Yes. I don’t know.’

 

Aragorn smiled. ‘Wisdom and experience have their place, and strength is not unwelcome; but it is in friendship we must trust now more than anything, and you have shown friendship indeed in your determination to follow Frodo on his journey; you and Sam and Merry all.’ 

 

There was something in Aragorn’s voice now that made a lump rise into Pippin’s throat; Della rushed forward to comfort him and he lifted her into his arms to press his cheek against her fur. Aragorn’s fierce, weary face was gentle, and his tone was kind. Pippin’s chest ached suddenly as the distance between this deserted moorland and the cheerful green hills of the Shire seemed to stretch beyond his comprehension, and he realised with a dull pang how very much he missed his parents. Yet there was no thought in his mind of turning back; only a profound desire that such a journey had never been necessary in the first place. He was not to know how far he had yet to travel before he could return home at last.

 

‘Come,’ said Aragorn after another long silence. ‘The others are sleeping soundly; let the Shire demonstrate its great worth once more. An eagle might see farther even than an owl in this light, yet we have no eagle among us. Perhaps Edelweiss might fly up and tell us what she spies?’

 

000

 

If Aragorn knew that he was not speaking the whole truth then he did not show it. In fact Boromir had been stirring uneasily for some minutes, troubled by unpleasant dreams, and had slowly come awake without any of the others apparently noticing. He had listened absently to the conversation between Aragorn and Pippin, but had not thought much of their words. He might have been still asleep, or else he might be misunderstanding what little of their hushed voices actually reached his ears.

 

He blinked as he came fully awake at last and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun overhead. It was cold still, and his muscles were stiff from his awkward slumber. The first phrase to filter entirely into his waking mind was Aragorn’s suggestion that Edelweiss should fly, and yet that made no sense. The winged daemons among them numbered only two, and those were the owls of elf and wizard; some others might climb but none were capable of flight save Lerandir and Minerva.

 

Cahira stretched as she stood, and Boromir felt her go utterly still mid-movement. Slowly she righted herself, coming completely upright, her long tail swishing close to the ground with indecision - and with something like anger.

 

‘No,’ she said, her voice deep and regal but shaken to her core. ‘They cannot have allowed this.’

 

Boromir looked, feeling her fear and disbelief as it slowly mounted to horror, and his own emotions surged to join them. There was Aragorn on watch, his wolf-daemon beside him, and Pippin beside her. All of them were looking up at the same thing; a bird, an eagle, swooping a short distance overhead, and yet  _ not _ an eagle, not a true bird at all, but -

 

‘His daemon,’ Boromir breathed. ‘They haven’t settled.’

 

Their disbelief held them frozen as Edelweiss, in eagle form, completed a circuit at what must have been the full extent of her range - there was a kind of painful joy on Pippin’s face, something caught between the heart-deep tug as his daemon pulled on their bond, and a shared exhilaration in her flight -  _ but this was wrong _ .

 

For a boy almost grown, his daemon on the cusp of settling, to defend the walls of his city was one thing, and that only in direst need, when all other hope was lost - but to send one so young on a journey so perilous as this - Boromir could not fathom it. How could they have allowed it? How had he not known?

 

He watched, speechless, as Edelweiss at last flew downwards, and at the very bottom of her dive changed - _ changed  _ \- smoothly into a wolf, neither as tall nor as grand as Araltha - hardly more than a pup to Boromir’s eyes in his newfound knowledge - but nevertheless alike in colour and form to Aragorn’s daemon - and she, Della, touched noses to Araltha in respect and gratitude, then leapt up into Pippin’s arms as a meerkat once more - and Pippin laughed - he laughed -

 

And then he noticed Boromir, and his face fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A daemon update:
> 
> Aragorn: Grey wolf, name "Araltha", which is a combination of Sindarin and Greek and means "noble healer".  
> Boromir: Lioness, name "Cahira", meaning "warrior".  
> Gandalf: Great grey owl, know by various names, most of which mean some variation on "wisdom", including "Minerva".  
> Legolas: Barn owl, name "Lerandir", from "legin randir", which is Sindarin for "swift wanderer" (according to [this site](http://funtranslations.com/elvish)).  
> Gimli: Wombat, name "Erôthknil", from "erôthknurl", which means "earthstone" in the language of the dwarves from Paolini's Inheritance series (I found [this](https://www.paolini.net/writers-corner/invented-languages-inheritance-cycle/dwarf-language/dwarf-language-english-dictionary/) translation site before a Khuzdul one, and the name stuck).  
> Merry: Eurasian otter, name "Delphinium", known as "Elphi", meaning "courage" and "celebration".  
> Pippin: Unsettled (see the aforementioned discussion), name "Edelweiss", known as "Della", meaning "boldness" and "noble courage".


	3. Pippin: Part II

‘Our doom is nigh indeed,’ Boromir whispered, his voice soft with disbelief, ‘if our choices come to this.’

 

‘What do you mean?’ Aragon placed a hand on Pippin’s shoulder. Pippin had drawn himself up to his full height and was clutching Edelweiss close. His mouth was set in a thin, determined line, as around them their companions began to stir.

 

‘I know not how such things are done in the Wild, but in Gondor even at this late hour we do not send children out to war,’ Boromir replied, unfolding his tall form until he stood straight beside Cahira. His eyebrows were raised in challenge, his words directed at Aragorn, but it was Pippin who stepped forwards with a reply.

 

‘I am not a child,’ he said, low and determined. Della held her form but bared her teeth just slightly; Cahira bowed her head calmly, almost apologetically, but Boromir did not back down.

 

‘I mean no disrespect, and I do not impugn your courage, but you do not know what you face,’ he explained as he took a step towards Pippin; Pippin stepped back. Boromir’s eyes were wide; his expression was sincere; but it was also pitying. Pippin would not be pitied. 

 

‘I am quite sick of being told that I do not know what I am doing,’ he snapped. ‘I do not think any of us can really say what is coming - not even Gandalf - and yet it is only Merry and I who are doubted because of it. We hobbits may surprise you yet.’ 

 

Pippin burned with shame and anger, and it was only with a very great effort of will that he turned his departure into a deliberate retreat, rather than something childish and sulky. He paused for just a moment after speaking, his chin tilted up, his expression fierce and challenging. When no one seemed ready to respond, he turned on his heel and walked away; not far enough to be out of sight, but far enough that he could only hear what his companions were saying if he concentrated. Then he sat down with his back towards the camp and fumed. He was not so angry or so foolish as to forget where he was, or why he was there; he was still on watch, and he scanned their surroundings constantly for danger. But he did not invite company. He was too confused and ashamed to speak.

 

‘Well,’ said Merry’s voice a few moments later, despite Pippin’s clear desire to be left alone. ‘I doubt Boromir will forget  _ that  _ telling off for a while yet.’

 

Pippin huffed a breath of something almost like laughter as Merry took a seat on the grass beside him. They did not look at each other.

 

‘Did I wake everyone?’ Pippin asked eventually in a small voice.

 

‘I hadn’t got to sleep yet, to be honest with you,’ Merry replied, leaning back on his hands with a sigh. ‘I think Sam slept through it, but… yes, the others are all awake now.’

 

‘Do you think I am a fool, Merry?’

 

‘No,’ Merry said, instantly and honestly. ‘Well… not more than I am I suppose.’ This deserved a hearty shove, which Pippin provided, though he also smiled. Elphi was creeping up towards his knees, careful not to touch him but with her neck outstretched, sniffing an invitation to Della. Della looked up at Pippin, who nodded his permission, and she hopped from his lap onto the grass, otter-formed in imitation of Elphi. The two little daemons moved a short distance away and sat grooming each other quietly.

 

‘I am quite tired of being told that I am unsuited to this Quest,’ Pippin stated.

 

‘Yes,’ Merry replied, ‘I think you got that point across. Hullo, Frodo, Sam.’ The other two hobbits had come over to join them, and they sank onto the grass beside Merry and Pippin without a word. Their daemons went quickly to sit with Elphi and Della.

 

‘Still, Boromir is not a bad fellow really,’ Merry continued. 

 

‘I know,’ Pippin twisted his lips unhappily. ‘But -’

 

‘I know,’ Merry interrupted. Truthfully what he wanted to say, though he could not find the words to express it, was that he remembered how it felt, being Pippin’s age. He remembered when he was a tweenager and the first of his peers had started to settle; remembered watching them with a confusing mix of fear and envy; remembered seeing those expressions on the faces of his unsettled friends when Elphi finally took her permanent form. He wanted to tell Pippin that it was not easy even in the comfort and safety of the Shire. He was afraid, though; afraid that Pippin would be angry with him; afraid that he would not explain himself properly. 

 

‘What you must remember,’ Frodo spoke after a silence, ‘is that Men age differently to us. Perhaps they settle sooner as well. You know that they come of age before they are even in their tweens.’

 

‘With all due respect, I don’t think that’s the root of it, Mr Frodo,’ Sam put in, looking thoughtful.

 

‘What do you mean?’ Merry shifted to glance over his shoulder at their companions; Boromir and Gandalf looked to be having quite a heated, though hushed, discussion. Cahira was bristling beside Boromir, tensed as if ready to pounce; her sharp claws were digging neat scratches into the ground. Minerva, in all her ruffled elegance, was perched on Gandalf’s shoulder; she did not look as if she had ever moved from that spot, much less as though she planned a departure any time soon. 

 

‘Well,’ said Sam slowly, ‘we’re all of us children next to the likes of elves, aren’t we? I mean Strider and Gimli and all, too. And I take your meaning, that the Men age differently, they do, but what I think is… What I think is that Boromir has gone and appointed himself protector of us without realising it himself. Not of us  _ hobbits _ , you understand; I mean all of us. Just look at his daemon. She’s a bigger cat than any I ever saw, and twice as big even as Strider’s wolf.’ Here Sam seemed to become stuck, though all three of the other hobbits were listening quite raptly, even Pippin, who was still nursing his injured pride somewhat tenderly. Over in the huddle of their daemons, Camellia gave Violet a gentle nudge.

 

‘Go on, Sam,’ Frodo nodded encouragingly, exchanging a sympathetic look with his daemon before fixing his attention back onto Sam.

 

‘I mean to say, Boromir has been defending Gondor all his life, hasn’t he? Against orcs and goblins and who knows what else. And probably since before he was settled too. I think it’s in his nature, you know? It’s instinct, to go protecting those he thinks as can’t do it themselves, and even those that can. And maybe he especially thinks it’s his part to fight for those as he thinks oughtn’t to, even if they can, begging your pardon Mr Pippin. What I mean to say is that I don’t think it’s anything personal. We’re none of us warriors like those Big Folk.’ Sam pointed with his thumb back at the others, seeming to include Gimli in this assessment as well. ‘Might be he’s frustrated, you see? Not being able to do more to help. So he’s doing what bit he can, same as all of us. Maybe he was surprised is all. I’m sure he didn’t mean no offense by it, Mr Pippin, really.’ Sam’s face was so earnest and kindly that Pippin couldn’t help himself; he leaned across and wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders from where he sat, and when he pulled back Sam’s ears were pink with embarrassment at his own speech. 

 

Frodo smiled fondly, looking so much like an indulgent Bilbo that Merry had to stifle a laugh. Elphi felt no such inhibition, and whispered their thought none too quietly in Della’s ear: Della gave a chitter of amusement and gamboled in a circle around Sam’s Violet, hopping lightly out of Camellia’s long-fingered reach before she could earn a playful smack from the little primate.

 

‘Do you know Sam,’ said Frodo, ignoring their daemons’ antics with a great effort, ‘sometimes I think you might be the wisest hobbit in all of the Shire.’

 

Sam turned beet-red and mumbled something incoherent. Violet ran the few steps back to him and buried her nose in his lap, followed by the two otters that were Elphi and Della, laughing and leaping over one another without breaking stride. Camellia returned more sedately, and climbed happily into Frodo’s waiting arms.

 

000

 

Merry had been correct; Cahira was growling low and constantly while Boromir spoke, but Gandalf showed no sign of relenting. 

 

‘Pippin was right,’ Aragorn argued calmly. ‘He is not a child.’

 

‘He is not a man!’ 

 

‘No,’ Gimli agreed slowly. ‘He is a hobbit.’ 

 

Boromir could not tell whether the dwarf was being serious or making light of the situation. It did not improve his mood. 

 

‘He is not  _ grown _ ,’ Boromir emphasised helplessly. ‘He is not settled, he cannot possibly have any idea -’

 

‘There too, Peregrin was correct. Not even I can be sure of what is to come.’ Minerva ruffled her wings importantly. Her movement was the only sign that either she or Gandalf were less than comfortable with the situation. Despairing, Boromir swung to face Legolas. 

 

‘Surely you do not agree?’ he urged the elf. ‘Surely you can see this folly for what it is? I do not suggest that Pippin is uncourageous, but his youth cannot be denied!’ It was an immense struggle for Boromir to keep his voice even. He spoke honestly, and desperately; of the hobbits’ bravery he had no doubt, and a great deal of admiration, but the thought of a boy unsettled marching to war - he could not let this be. 

 

‘No one is denying his youth,’ Legolas spoke quietly. He was the only one present without his daemon at his side; Lerandir had gone above, flying circuits to keep watch over the group. Only Aragorn, who knew him well and was watching for it, could see the strain this was putting on him. 

 

‘Yet you are all determined to send him to his death unsettled and far from home; you would use him as a pawn in your schemes and plots and never think to -’

 

‘Enough,’ Gandalf interrupted in a tone of ringing finality; Minerva stretched her wings wide, once, and gave a loud shriek which silenced any further protests. 

 

‘We are not using him, Boromir. Pippin is here willingly, even eagerly. There is not one among us who wouldn't rather he were safe in the Shire, but you do not know the tenacity of hobbits. He said he would follow, and he would, to the ends of the Earth. Can you not see? They would all do so faster than any of us have the power to stop them. This Quest is bound to Frodo, and the others will not leave him.’

 

‘It seems to me,’ Gimli spoke in a voice like the very mountains were waking from their long slumber, so deep and slow was it, ‘that we would do better to have an eye on him with us, than half an eye on him behind.’

 

‘I have said similar myself,’ Gandalf agreed, inclining his head to the dwarf.

 

‘You are all arrayed against me then?’

 

‘Say not against,’ said Legolas, ‘we are joined in common purpose, though our customs may suggest alternative routes to the goal. Perhaps it would have been better for Pippin to remain behind, and perhaps it would not, but he is with us now. We cannot turn back. This is our path whether we would choose it again or not, and we are together upon it.’

 

There were several long moments of silence when Legolas finished speaking. Araltha stepped forward slowly, her head dipped low with respect, looking up at Cahira and sniffing gently. Cahira dipped her own head to touch noses with the wolf then moved back to Boromir’s side. 

 

‘I recognise when I am facing defeat,’ Boromir conceded reluctantly. ‘Though it does not sit well with me. I see that I cannot change your thoughts, and perhaps you are right that our path is now set together, but I do not say that such would be the case had I known of this in Rivendell.’

 

‘Your experience is respected, Boromir,’ Araltha, who rarely spoke even to Aragorn, had a surprisingly musical voice. She was standing straight and tall now, proud in her bearing and compassionate in her gaze. Boromir was startled, not for the first time nor yet for the last, by the wolf’s unexpected grace. ‘Your concerns are shared. Yet perhaps you underestimate our young friends. We have travelled with them longer than you, and what they lack in skill they counter with such courage and love as we should all hope to possess. We shall protect them as much as it is in our power to do so, and perhaps they may have the opportunity to do the same for us. More than that none can promise, whatever they might wish.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray: Sam, Legolas, and Gimli finally got lines!  
> (Speeches. So many speeches. Sorry, dialogue heavy chapter.)  
> TBC. The next chapter will be a combination of 'Boromir' and 'Pippin: Part III'.


	4. Pippin: Part III / Boromir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay. Some of the lines from this chapter were among the first I wrote for this fic, but although I had a clear idea of what I wanted, it was difficult to actually get the whole thing written. I suppose you will be the judges of whether or not it worked.

In the days that followed Pippin and Boromir often walked close to one another but rarely spoke. Each was consumed by emotions too difficult to explain, though they would have been surprised indeed at how similar these emotions were to one another.

 

In each there was pride, strong and fierce, though sometimes clumsily displayed. In each also there was determination; stubborn pigheadedness, Merry would doubtless have called it if given the chance, and sorrow and embarrassment too.

 

Most difficult of all were their desperate desires to prove themselves. In Pippin this took the form common to all boys on the cusp of manhood; a deep, half-frightened yearning to grow up, but more than that, it was to grow up  _ better _ , to  _ challenge _ , to be  _ worthy _ . It was all of this and more besides, and Pippin would not have found words to describe it if he had the whole long lifetime of an Elf to ponder it.

 

In Boromir the feeling was more familiar, but not less difficult to express. It was, simply, to protect; to defend, as he had done all his life, those who needed defending. It was, though like Pippin he would not have been able to speak of it aloud - perhaps he would not even have used the words to his own daemon, in his own head - it was brotherly, or paternal, or both, this need to safeguard, to shield, to  _ teach _ .

 

After four days of this uneasy truce, it was Cahira who decided that enough was, after all, enough. They had made camp for the day in an unfortunately open stretch of land; shielded by low, thickly growing heather but little else for some miles. Pippin and the other hobbits were eating heartily, their daemons clustered around their feet and listening with rapt attention to a lengthy tale from Gimli’s wombat-daemon Erôthknil, although whether the story was historical or imagined was not entirely clear.

 

‘What is it?’ Boromir, watching from the other side of their camp, asked Cahira with a frown. Cahira raised her head from where it had been resting on her large paws, and looked shrewdly at Boromir.

 

‘I was thinking,’ she replied smoothly, ‘that it is no wonder you feel so bound to protecting him. He is very like Faramir, is he not?’

 

‘He is younger than Faramir,’ Boromir rumbled, low and dismissive. Cahira chuffed with amusement; Boromir frowned uncomfortably. 

 

‘You are determined to disapprove,’ Cahira shook her head, her tone as fond as it was exasperated.

 

‘And you are not?’ Boromir countered irritably. ‘He has fared well enough thus far, I grant you, while we are but days from Rivendell and these lands are still safer than most, but it will not last. Soon we will be too deep in the wild for him to turn back, and he may carry a sword, but he does not know how to use it. He will be killed.’

 

‘I recall a time when you could hardly lift a blade, let alone wield one.’

 

‘I learned,’ Boromir argued. ‘Before ever I set foot on a battlefield I was trained, and you had settled long before we ventured on missions of any real danger.’

 

‘Then our course seems clear.’ Cahira unfolded herself with her habitual feline grace and did not look back before striding out across their camp; Boromir was on his feet before he had worked out what she was doing, automatically following her against the sharp tug when she reached the limit of their bond.

 

Boromir stood back as Cahira approached the hobbits, more aware than usual of how he towered above them; how small they were, and how young. It was difficult for him to see even Frodo as more than a child, though he knew the Ringbearer was older than himself, and carried a heavier burden.

 

Cahira waited in silence for the hobbits’ attention before she spoke. She looked to Pippin when she did, though the others were listening just as intently.

 

‘Can you fight?’ she asked, without preamble. For answer, Della changed swiftly into a snarling wolverine, teeth bared and fur bristling. Cahira laughed her short, huffing laugh, and her next words were spoken to the little daemon.

 

‘Ferocity is good,’ she said, approvingly. ‘Strategy is better. Can he use a sword?’

 

Della, still in wolverine form, twisted to look at Pippin. Pippin opened his mouth as if to answer, but found no words at his lips. He looked to the other hobbits, then back to Cahira, and finally up at Boromir. He was not sure how to respond, because he could not make out Cahira’s motives; was this a test? Then Cahira tilted her head back towards Boromir and turned to walk away.

 

‘Come. Learn.’

 

Pippin glanced back once more at Merry, who shrugged and nodded, before following the great lion daemon to the other side of their camp. Merry, Frodo, and Sam trailed a few steps behind, unsure if they too were invited or if their presence would be a nuisance; curious and protective of their young friend. Pippin, for his part, was grateful for their support. He carried Della in his arms; she had taken the form now of a small dog with black and white fur, sniffing inquisitively at the air.

 

If Boromir was surprised by the presence of the three other hobbits, he did not show it. 

 

‘Take out your swords,’ he said. ‘Let us see how you hold them.’

 

00000

 

For much of the rest of that day Boromir instructed the four hobbits in how best to hold their swords and where to place their feet; which of their instinctive movements should be followed and which must be quickly unlearned. He did not mention Della’s unsettled nature even once, though he was aware all the time of Cahira’s attention, which was fixed on the little daemon constantly.

 

With just an hour or so until sunset, the little group finally broke up for a small meal before their night of walking began. They had slept little but did not yet feel tired, though all four hobbits found their arms aching from holding up their swords all afternoon; though only short knives by the standard of Men, their blades were heavy in the hobbits’ smaller, unpracticed hands. 

 

‘You learn quickly,’ Boromir said with some pride, lifting Pippin’s bag without being asked and handing it to him. ‘Your kinsmen too.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Pippin replied, a little wrong-footed. Della nudged his foot in disapproval, urging him to continue, in a much more polite tone, ‘I have a good teacher.’ 

 

Aragorn and Gandalf were busy making sure to remove any trace of their presence from the camp. Boromir, Pippin, and their daemons watched in silence for a moment. 

 

‘You must make me one promise,’ Boromir spoke again as Gandalf signalled their readiness and Aragorn strode forward to take the lead with Araltha at his side.

 

‘What is that?’ asked Pippin, who was by now feeling much more warmly towards Boromir. He had, after all, given up a large portion of his allotted sleeping time for sword training. 

 

‘That if it does come to battle - when it does - you will stay behind me.’ 

 

For the second time that day, Pippin was left uncertain how to respond. Cahira bent down to Della, who was in the form of an adolescent lioness partly to curiosity and partly from respect, and whispered to her. Pippin listened to his daemon’s reaction through familiar tug of their bond before he shook his head, not without regret, and turned apologetically to Boromir. 

 

‘I cannot promise that,’ he replied slowly. 

 

‘We will be careful,’ Della piped up, addressing not just Cahira but her human as well. ‘We will stay close if we can. But we will not make a promise we cannot be sure to keep.’

 

‘Then we shall not ask you to,’ Boromir inclined his head respectfully, more than a little impressed by the young hobbit’s earnest tone. 

 

‘Besides,’ Pippin joked, ‘you said so yourself - we learn quickly. It may be that you Men need hobbits in front of you by the time it comes to that.’ He smiled hopefully, and to his own surprise as much as anyone else's, did not object when Boromir reached down - automatically it seemed - and ruffled his hair like one might a younger brother.

 

They did not speak again until much later.

 

The hobbits, with their shorter legs, were all growing rather tired near morning. The sun’s first pale rays were climbing slowly over the distant horizon and Camellia’s eyes were drooping. Violet stumbled but in her stubbornness refused to be carried by Sam. Even Elphi was lagging, and finally had to be scooped into Merry’s arms to stop her falling behind. 

 

Della, now free from her self-imposed restraint against changing, had in her weariness shrunk her imitation lion form so that she was hardly larger than a cub. 

 

Boromir and Cahira walked just ahead, as fresh now - or so it appeared - as they had been hours ago at the beginning of this night’s trek. 

 

It was purely by chance that Cahira glanced back, but when she did she immediately slowed to bring herself and Boromir level with Della and Pippin. 

 

‘May I?’ she inquired softly, and then - while Pippin was still figuring out what she meant and Della had only looked up at her, frowning with her movements if not her eyes - she leaned down and gently lifted the lion cub by the scruff of her neck, like a kitten. 

 

They walked on together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddammit, Boromir, you can't just adopt everyone smaller than you, that's not how this works.
> 
> I struggled with this chapter as I wanted it to be longer. This fic will likely use both book- and movie-verse scenes, and I had wanted to include the training scene from the film, which I love, but I don't really have anything to add except "this but with daemons"... So this is sort of a prelude to that and you should definitely consider that scene 'but with daemons' as 'fic-canon' for this.


End file.
